The Heart is a Lonely Hunter
by maytheoddsPN12
Summary: When Katniss Everdeen volunteers to take her sister's place in the 74th Annual Hunger Games, Gale Hawthorne is crushed. See the action of the Games through his eyes, and watch a romance unfold between him and an unlikely friend. **Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or any of these characters. All credit goes to Suzanne Collins.** This story will be as canon as possible.
1. Chapter 1

To look at me, you wouldn't know that there are powerful feelings brewing beneath the surface. My stony expression belies what I'm really thinking, and I think that it's my best defense. Because I live in a place where your thoughts are dangerous, and your words can cost your life. It's a world where you can't speak up or act out to save your children, because that's considered a rebellious act. In Panem, where the sacrifice of children is treated like a game, powerful feelings are traitorous. At least, this is only true within the limits of the district.

So that's why I'm slipping under the electric fences around District Twelve at 3 o'clock in the morning. The full, luminous moon is hanging low in the sky, giving the Meadow an eerie quality. Falling shadows make the tall grasses seem almost ominous, but at this point, I'm so used to the way the outskirts of the district look that I barely notice. The woods lie just beyond this stretch. It's the only place where I can just let loose, say whatever I want to say, scream. The Capitol has no control over me here, because they don't know that I've left their boundaries in the first place.

The fences are shoddy—there are more weak spots than I can count, and the district rarely runs an electric current through them. I think that it's more of a symbolic warning to the people of District Twelve: "Step outside these lines and you're dead." Except that you're not…only if you're brave enough to venture away from the comforts of home.

I let out a short laugh to myself at that thought. It's laughable, calling Twelve a home. We live in absolute squalor. My family lives at the edge of the district, in one of the squat houses that belongs to what we call the Seam. It's the poorest section of the district, but it's not as if the merchant class lives a significantly better life. No, we all starve together, just struggling to make it between meals. And we all try to clean away the coal dust that coats our skin and our clothes and our homes. It's not a life. It's an existence.

I turned to hunting illegally years ago after my father died in a mining accident, because I couldn't just let my mother flounder. I couldn't watch her struggle to feed her three kids all while waiting to deliver a fourth. Her despair was painful to me, but the worst was knowing that the Capitol refused to compensate her further for her loss. I knew that a family of five could not survive on the tessarae handouts I was taking out each month—a month's meager ration of grain and oil. So the only logical thing to do was to step up as the eldest son and fight for our survival.

I trod through the thick grassy patches, always keeping my eyes on the distant woods. The moonlight splays across the Meadow, drenching the land in silver. It makes the woods look even more inviting, because whenever I turn back towards the district, it's pitch black. A grim sight on the morning of the reaping.

At eighteen years old, I'm at the cusp of adulthood. So that means it's my last reaping. I grit my teeth as I walk, clenching my hands into fists. Yes, that means that I won't have to worry about being picked as a tribute for the Hunger Games next year. But I have other people to worry about still. My brothers, Vick and Rory. And my sister Posy. How many more years do I have to deal with this? The thought of my siblings going into the arena, facing certain death on national television, is just too much to bear. I'd rather face it myself than see them suffer.

And, as much as I hate to admit it to myself, I'm worried about someone else. I've been pushing it down inside of me for a long time, but this morning, I feel my anxiety rising. She's sixteen, so she could so easily get reaped. And I'd be powerless to stop it.

That's the root of the problem. I could almost deal with the poverty and the suffering that we endure here in District Twelve, in Panem, if we weren't under the Capitol's thumb. More than anything else, I hate not having power. I hate having to accept the Hunger Games, having to keep my mouth shut when I really feel like screaming, having to watch terrible things happen and know that there's nothing I can do to stop it.

Well, I can at least rebel in my own small way. A tight-lipped smile works its way across my face as I come into the woods. Slinging my game bag over my shoulder, I pad quietly over to the hollow tree trunk where Katniss stashes her bow and arrows. Normally, I'd set my snares, but waiting for easy prey takes too long, and I'd rather take out my frustrations with a bow. There's something about the sound that the bowstring makes as the arrow whizzes through the air that I can't get enough of. It breaks the deep silence in the air for just a moment, vibrating back and forth, humming in low tones, before it all but stops.

My visibility's poor in this light, but the shadows are just starting to lift, and the light of dawn starts pouring through the treetops. Loading the bow, I take a few silent steps forward, treading lightly. I don't want to scare the game away, and I almost never do. Katniss says it's my greatest asset as a hunter—I'm so careful with my footsteps that I can practically creep up on deer without chasing them away. This skill has come with years of practice, but I still think that I could stand to improve. After all, my shots are poor.

Rustling in the bushes catches my attention. Instinctively, I cock my head to the right, listening intently and not daring to breathe. Any slight sound or provocation is enough to send game away. I can't take that chance today. Patiently, I stand still and wait for the creature to reveal itself. Cautiously, a fat rabbit ventures out into the open. I adopt my hunter's stance, drawing my right arm back, pausing as the arrow's fletching reaches my eye. I take aim, and the arrow flies right into the rabbit's brain. I look on with satisfaction as it twitches and falls still. It's not a great shot, but it is meat, and I know people in the district who would pay good money for a fresh rabbit.

I slip my kill into the game bag, feeling confident enough to keep hunting. I've never been great at taking down large game like deer, but I'm pretty good at shooting smaller, flightier animals. Rabbits, squirrels, birds. It's not hard to predict how they'll react to a predator: they'll dart away, take flight in frenzy. But they're not very smart, and they don't move away far enough to lose me. I know how to set traps, or how to use twitch-up snares so that I can discourage larger game from picking away at the game I've already trapped. Nobody taught me these skills. I just figured it out on my own somehow, maybe because I knew that I needed this to survive.

Morning light seeps through the treetops just as I take my last shot. I've managed to take out a couple of rabbits and a squirrel. Wiping sweat from my brow, I look to the sky, judging that it's probably about six. It leaves me enough time to head back to the district, trade what little game I have at the Hob, before turning around to meet Katniss here later this morning. And then the reaping's in the square at two o'clock. The thought makes me grimace, but I know that I don't have much time to waste.

It's a decent walk from the woods to the Hob, which is our black market. It cropped up in an abandoned coal factory years ago, and it's grown ever since. Technically, I shouldn't be out here or selling game at all. But the law enforcers buy game, too. We make a point of selling to Peacekeepers, because they can afford to spend money on it. I'm hoping that the Hob will be bustling by the time I get there. I need some money to spend.

Luckily, all the proprietors of the stands are opening up for business just as I walk in. Over the last few years, the operation has grown and expanded. Ever since that mining accident, people have been desperate for cheaper goods. Without a head of the household, without a family breadwinner, it's been harder than ever to get by. The merchants sell luxury items in the marketplace, things that people like us from the Seam can ill afford.

Greasy Sae, a haggard old woman who buys my game to make hearty soups, sees me coming in with my game bag and beckons for me, a wide toothless grin crossing her face. "Got anything good for me today, Mr. Hawthorne?" she calls out over the din of the traders.

I hitch the bag up over my shoulder and make my way through the crowd towards her stall. "A couple of rabbits," I say lightly, resting the bag on the countertop. Greasy Sae raises an eyebrow at me, and reaches out to touch the bulge with spindly fingers. "They're a decent size." I give her a quick smile, which is rare for me when I'm haggling.

This makes her laugh, which quickly lapses into a coughing fit. Greasy Sae lifts a hand apologetically before thrusting her face into the crook of her arm. Once the spell subsides, she looks at me doubtfully. "And you're the one who shot them…?"

"Yes, ma'am." I watch Greasy Sae's face contort as she tries to hold back her laughter. "I know what you're thinking. I'm not a great shot, but these aren't too bad. There are not a lot of holes." I hold out my hands to her helplessly. "It's just meat, right?"

Every time I come to Greasy Sae with game, we go through the same charade. She always ends up buying what I offer her, unless it's so ridden with holes and knife marks that she can't use it. But this woman makes use of whatever meat you give her. One time, Katniss and I brought down wild dog, and she put that in a stew. So I know she'll take a few rabbits, and she'll give me a generous price. But for now, she pantomimes reluctance. Sighing dramatically, she says, "Let me see if I can take this off your hands." I catch her wink as I reach into the bag.

She examines the game critically for a few seconds before setting it down behind the counter. "All right, Gale. We have a deal." Greasy Sae fishes around for money, pressing the coins into my empty hand. "In the meantime, work on your shooting." She gives me another smile, and I shrug.

"Will do," I say. "And thank you. I'll probably be back later with Katniss."

Her eyes light up when I mention this. "Well, then. I guess I can count on some first-class game next time around." Greasy Sae lets out another laugh before waving me off. I set out, money in hand and determination written on my brow.

Even though we can rarely afford the goods that the merchants sell, sometimes Katniss and I manage to trade our game with the shop owners in exchange for food or materials—linens, thread, soap. Sometimes they pay, but we prefer to trade if we can. Over the years, we've learned which shop keepers to sell to, and we keep track of what they prefer. Right now, I have a squirrel in my game bag, and I know that the baker has a taste for them. It's early enough that his wife probably won't be up. We've had run-ins with her before, and she's not very pleasant to trade with.

The Mellark Bakery's in the center of town, so it can be risky to trade there out in the open. The Peacekeepers do buy from us, but even so, it's safer to go around the back entrance, just in case there is a crackdown. I sneak around the side of the bakery and cautiously rap on the door with my knuckles. Then I take a step back, just in case the baker's wife is the one to answer.

I'm relieved when the baker comes to the door instead. He's a tall, wide man, with wrinkles and burns deep-set in his face. Whenever Katniss is with me, he clams up. The man is pretty soft-spoken, but for some reason, on days like this, he's willing to carry on a conversation with me. I raise my hand in greeting when he opens the door. Automatically I inhale the scent of fresh-baked bread. It makes my mouth water, but I force myself to keep my cool, even though my stomach is feeling hollow.

"Good morning," he says warmly, and he sticks out his hand to shake. I return the gesture, feeling his firm grip and his calloused hands.

"Same to you," I say. I start to reach for my bag, ready to proffer a squirrel, but then I remember that I have spare change in my pocket. I'm so hungry that I can't think of anything else but a fresh loaf of bread. Instead of starting off with a trade, I open my mouth and say, "I was just wondering if I could buy some bread." I feel a surge of pride when I finger the loose coins in my pocket. I rarely have enough to spare on something as luxurious as bakery bread.

The baker looks at me in surprise, apparently not expecting to be making a sale instead of a trade. But he nods anyway. "There are a few loaves coming out of the ovens in a couple of minutes. If you don't mind waiting here…" he offers, faltering. We're not used to this routine. I come here to sell my game, not buy from him. But I'm weak today.

"Not a problem," I say quickly. "I have time to spare." He gives me a curt nod, and a silence falls. The baker's sparse with words, so I have to prod him to keep up a conversation. "So, what time do you close shop today?"

His face falls. "About noon. They'll be setting up the square for the reaping around then. There's no way that anyone could get through that mess to come to the bakery." He shrugs, but then he gives me a solemn look. "You nervous about this afternoon, son?"

Now it's my turn to fall silent. Above all else, the Hunger Games and the reaping are my least favorite things to talk about. The prospect of being chosen is all too real. And I know that I can't leave my family behind if I am picked. "Not really," I lie, for the sake of my own pride. "It's my last year of eligibility, so if I get through this year, I'm in the clear."

The baker gives me a look of understanding. "My two older sons were nervous wrecks about it during their last reapings. But they made it through just fine."

"The thing is, my name's in there a lot," I admit quietly, bowing my head, and the baker's forehead creases. "But whatever happens, I guess it'll be for the best. If I'm drawn, it's because I have the most entries, so that's better than someone being drawn that doesn't have more than a few entries." Then I grimace. "I'm not sure what to expect."

Unexpectedly, he reaches out and rests his hand over my shoulder, giving me a warm, reassuring smile. I startle at his touch, but I don't move away. "I'm sure you'll do fine, son," he says. He sounds completely genuine, and it's foreign to me. It's been five years since I've had a father figure of any sort, and this gesture is the closest I've gotten to that.

"Thanks," I say warily, unsure of how to react to this. After a moment, I give him a smile in return; grateful for the way he's treating me. So often I've been kicked around, just because I was a kid from the Seam, the son of a miner. But right now, the baker is treating me like one of his sons, and it's a welcome gesture.

Just as the man's about to continue, I glance over his shoulder and see a pair of narrowed blue eyes staring back at me. It's his youngest son. Peeta, I think. The kid's a year or two behind me in school, but I don't talk to him because he's one of the merchant kids and he sticks with that crowd. But I acknowledge him all the same, clearing my throat and nodding at him. The baker turns around to regard his son standing behind him, peeling his hand off my shoulder. Peeta wordlessly hands a loaf of bread to his father, avoiding my eyes completely as he steps into the light. Then he disappears back into the shadows, and the baker holds the loaf out to me.

I start to dig for a spare coin, but the baker stops me, shaking his head. I take it out and show it to him, yet he still refuses. "No, no. I don't want that."

Helplessly, I reach into my game bag. "At least let me trade you," I offer, poking around until I surface with the squirrel. The baker's eyes lock on it, and he gives me a smile. I know that he'll make this trade gladly, even though it's kind of unfair. I get fresh bread, while he gets a mutilated squirrel. Even so, he takes it from me, and I accept the loaf, cradling it in my arms. I don't even mind the searing heat against my skin.

"That for your family?" he asks kindly. I look up into his weathered face and I just nod, not really wanting to divulge the truth.

"Something like that," I say, thinking of Katniss as I do. Then I turn to leave, glancing back over my shoulder at the generous baker, who lifts a hand to wave at me. It's funny, but I notice that his son is still standing behind him, staring me down. I meet his eyes, but this time, he doesn't shy away from my glance. I nod, and set off for the woods. There's not much time left to spare.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Okay, guys. It took me two weeks, but I finally got Chapter 2 finished! Sorry it took so long... Hope you enjoy!_

Even though the trek into the woods is exhausting enough the first time, I willingly make the trip again. I have the chance to hunt with a partner instead of on my own. It makes me a better, more vigilant hunter, and it doesn't help to have someone to make the time go by.

The thought of seeing her sets my heart racing with anticipation. This is something completely foreign to me. I've never looked at a girl this way before, never felt this powerful desire to grab hold of her and never let her go. But it's here now, and I can't fight it anymore. I've given up in my struggle.

My mind wanders as I hike through the tall grasses, making me desperate for a distraction. I find myself thinking of her again, but instead of picturing her as a slender, fiery-eyed sixteen year-old, I see her at twelve years old.

_She's standing in the middle of a clearing out in the woods, her long black hair swept back into a messy braid. This girl is scrawny, all spindly arms and legs, but there's an air of confidence that she exudes. Maybe it's the way that the late afternoon light is hitting her, illuminating her high cheekbones and her thin lips, or maybe it's the way that she holds herself. She stands with a hand on one hip, clutching a delicately carved wooden bow in the other hand, and staring up at the sky, completely immersed in the cool autumn breeze. Though she can't be more than eleven or twelve, she looks fearless._

_I duck behind the trunk of a wide oak tree, concealing myself from her eyes. The girl barely notices, and I let out a barely audible huff of annoyance. Who is this kid, wandering around these woods like she owns it? Her confidence is odious to me. She's not fearless or brave. She's in my way, standing right in my territory. I refuse to cede it to some twelve year-old kid. I'm fourteen, practically a man, and I don't have to do this girl any favors._

_I watch in horror as her eyes lock on one of my twitch-up snares. Suddenly, she catches sight of a dead rabbit, hanging high above her head, safely out of a predator's reach. And thankfully, she can't touch it, either. I smirk with satisfaction when I see her standing on her tiptoes to reach, but she's still too short._

_Then I feel a surge of anger when her fingers are just about to close around the wire. I can't believe the audacity of this girl. Furious, I step out from behind the trunk, speaking as loudly as I dare. "That's dangerous." I hear a note of authority in my voice, and it makes me feel proud. She whirls around, fear in her eyes, and backs away. _You don't look so fearless now_, I think to myself with smug satisfaction. Her face flushes hotly, but she quickly blinks away her doe-eyed expression and replaces it with a hard stare. "What's your name?" I ask, drawing closer to her. I expect her to shy away, yet she surprises me by holding her ground and staring up at me._

_The girl mutters something inaudible. I strain to hear her, but the only thing I can make out is "Catnip". I give her a strange look. What a weird name for such an odd girl. It's actually kind of fitting. I clear my throat, folding my arms across my chest defensively. "Well, Catnip, stealing's punishable by death, or hadn't you heard?"_

_Now the girl's hands fly to her hips. She plants herself solidly in front of me, which is comical because I'm a good foot taller than her, and she has to tilt her head back to look at me squarely in the eye. "Katniss," she hisses, and I'm startled by her determination. "And I wasn't stealing. I was just looking at your snares. Mine never catch anything." She says this almost wistfully, and she turns back to admire my handiwork again. _

_I'm at a loss for words. I look at Katniss critically. She's short, gangly, and skinny as a post. Something makes me doubt that she's ever hunted before, judging from her size and from the way she startled at the sound of my voice. If I didn't know better, I'd say she's flighty or easily scared. But then she opened her mouth, and my perception of her changed forever. _

_About to sneer at her, I give her a haughty look. But I notice just then that there's a dead squirrel hanging off her belt loop. You almost wouldn't know that the thing was dead, if not for the cleanly pierced eye. There's barely a mark on the carcass. I would have guessed that she just picked it up off the forest floor, already dead. "So where'd you get the squirrel?" I ask now, eyeing her carefully._

"_I shot it," Katniss says matter-of-factly. She just shrugs when she sees me looking at her, dumbfounded. This little girl killed a squirrel with such an expert shot? I find it hard to believe. How could someone that small have such perfect aim? _

_But then I look at the bow in her hands. It's beautifully crafted—smooth, dark wood that arcs elegantly. I've never seen anything like it before. Even the Peacekeepers don't have weapons as nice as this bow. "Can I see that?" _

_She fixes me with a hard stare, but then she relents. Katniss hands me the bow, and I take it carefully into my hands, sliding my fingers over the glossy finish. I stare at it in awe. _

"_Remember, stealing's punishable by death." I look down at her to find her glaring at me, but it's darkly comical, and I let myself grin at her. As much as I want to dislike her and cast her off, I can't. Something about her is fascinating to me. She scowls at me, but I don't let my smile fade. _

"_What's your name?" she demands now, eyeing me warily. Katniss draws closer to me, keeping an eye on her bow, almost protectively. "I think I remember you. Your dad was one of the miners that died in the explosion, right?"_

_The accident is still fresh in my mind. It only happened a couple of months ago, and at fourteen years old, I had to take my dad's place as head of the household. When Katniss says this, I take it as her being insensitive, and I grimace. "Yes," I mutter, and her face pales. "I'm Gale." _

_She leans forward slightly, balancing on her toes. "I lost my dad, too." Katniss says this quietly, and she averts her eyes. A long silence follows. All I can hear are the leaves rustling as they fall from the tree branches onto the ground. I don't know how to respond to that. After all, I'm just a fourteen year-old boy, brooding and silent and uncomfortable with this entire situation._

"_I'm sorry," I manage, focusing on the ground so I don't have to look at her. A flush creeps up the back of my neck because I can feel her eyes on me. Stupid for me to be embarrassed around this kid. But I push on anyway, feeling like I should say more. "I remember you, too. From the ceremony." The day seems distant now, even a few months later: a cold winter day, spent huddled with mourning family members, where the eldest child in the family accepted a medal of valor in his or her father's honor. If I really think about it, I can picture it vividly. I stood next to my silently weeping mother, keeping a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, just like I imagined my father would have done. We were up on a makeshift stage in the middle of the square, surrounded by the people of the district, who were pouring out their own grief and sympathy. The mayor presented us with small, cheap medals, pressing the cold token into our hands with very little ceremony. I tried to hold myself together, but I could feel hot tears pooling in my eyes. I clutched my mother's shoulder even harder, to push the sadness away. If I reach back in my memory, forcing myself to scan the crowd, I remember glancing at a slight girl with a black braid who was holding an even skinnier blond child close to her. I can remember thinking that she looked so similar to me, that we could have been cousins: our coloring and face shapes were so similar. Her fierce protectiveness over this child reminded me of myself, because I'd been doing the same thing with my own siblings. And I remember the way she was looking out to the crowd. Her expression was identical to the one she was wearing in the woods minutes ago: completely fearless._

_It's so quiet for a minute that I start to wonder if she left. When I lift my eyes to her, she's still standing there looking at me. She has an inquisitive look in her eyes. "So, how long have you been hunting?" Katniss asks. "I've never seen you out here before."_

"_Since my dad died," I say. My voice cracks, and I cough to cover it up. A smile tugs at the corner of Katniss's mouth. "It was the only way that I could think to keep my family alive." I watch her face carefully, but she doesn't react. "And what about you?"_

_Katniss shrugs. "It's been a couple of months." Her eyes darken, but I can't place the reason for it. But then it's as if there's a spark inside of her. She bursts to life again, suddenly getting up in my face again. "Can you teach me how to set snares like you do?" _

_I blink, surprised, before scoffing at her. "We just met. I barely even know you. Why would I do that?"_

"_Just show me," she demands, her tone shifting from pleading to persistent. "Show me, and I promise that I'll show you how to use my bow." _

_I roll my eyes at this relative stranger. "And why would I want to use your bow?"_

"_Do you even _know_ how to shoot?"_ _Katniss counters, giving me a doubtful look. Now I just fall silent, unable to argue with that. "Believe me, I could teach you a lot. If you just show me your snares."_

_This kid is persistent. I let out a long sigh, too exhausted to try to keep up with her. There's no point in arguing if it means that I could learn something valuable. Something tells me that she could help me out, that she might know as much about survival as I do. Maybe. "Fine," I say in a huff, a little humiliated that I'm caving for a girl that irritates me, frankly. "I will show you my snares, and you can teach me to shoot. That's it." _

_Katniss doesn't smile. She doesn't offer me any semblance of friendship. Instead, she gives me a satisfied smirk. "Good," she says, and strides away from me without another word. I watch her leave, keeping my eyes on her until the thick foliage seems to swallow her up. And that's the beginning of our hunting partnership._

Back then, I was resistant to her companionship. I hated sharing the woods with her. Some small part of me selfishly wanted to hunt by myself, keeping my knowledge of snares to myself. I'd taught myself well over those few months, and I didn't feel like imparting survival skills and tips to some little twelve year-old kid. I wanted to relish in the silence of the woods alone, because it afforded me respite. My home life was hell, so the forest shielded me from the cruel world. It seemed to me that Katniss was rudely breaking into my sanctuary. I resented her for that for a little while, until I realized that I was learning from her, and that her presence was actually kind of welcome.

I smile to myself as I replay that episode in my head. It's been four years, but it feels like it could have been yesterday. And sometimes I wish that it was. I wish that we could revisit that time, where we were both still mostly innocent and relatively sheltered from pain. We had each other to depend on, as much as we resisted a friendship at the beginning.

Now I'm nearing the clearing in the middle of the woods, which lies on top of a hill. It's a grassy patch with a weathered boulder that we like to call "our rock". Katniss and I have met here for years now. We'll sit and look out over the sprawling district. I take a seat on the rock and look down into the depths of the district. Even from here, I can see how dismal it looks. The buildings are tinged with coal dust; the houses are squat and run-down; it looks like a giant pit. Yes, this is the place that I call home.

I can just make out a figure at the bottom of the hill. Leather boots, laced up to the knee; a hunting cap pulled over the forehead; a bow slung over the shoulder. I know who it is already, but even so, I don't bother to move until I can make out the black braid swinging back and forth behind her back. _Katniss_. My lips spread into a wide smile. I try to ignore the pounding in my chest.

When she gets closer, I can see that she's grinning at me, too. Outside of the woods, Katniss almost never smiles. It's kind of nice to know that I am the only person she smiles at.

"Hey, Catnip," I call out loudly. It feels good to raise my voice, to know she's the only person that can hear me. Katniss scowls at the sound of her nickname. I've called her that ever since we met in the woods that day, and she hates it. But she's never told me to stop, so I don't. She stops in front of me, resting her boot on the rock. "Look what I shot," I say boastfully, pulling the loaf of bread out of my game bag. On the walk up, I stuck an arrow through the center, in a moment of complete giddiness. When Katniss sees this, she laughs, and takes the loaf from me as she settles back on the rock next to me.

"Mm, still warm," she says, pulling the arrow out. She holds the loaf up to her nose, inhaling deeply. I watch her eyes flutter shut as she takes it all in. I can almost hear her thoughts: _Is this real?_ A fresh loaf of bread like this costs a fortune. Katniss's eyes open slowly as she sets the loaf in her lap. "What did it cost you?" she asks curiously.

"Just a squirrel," I say, shrugging. She raises an eyebrow at me, almost skeptical. Clearly, the value of a squirrel is not equivalent to that of bakery bread, but I didn't expect the trade to be that easy. "Think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning. Even wished me luck."

Katniss shakes her head. "Well, we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" For a moment, her voice sounds tired and sad, and it brings my good mood down a notch. I'd almost managed to forget what today holds. The reaping's just a few hours away. When I glance up at the sky, I can see that the sun is gradually climbing higher. Time is ticking by, and we can't stop it.

Then she reaches into her pocket. "Prim left us a cheese," she says, holding out a tiny, perfect goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves. I grin. Katniss's little sister, Prim, has become a sister to me, too, over the years. She's sweet and gentle, just the opposite of Katniss, but it's clear to me that Katniss softens around Prim.

"Thank you, Prim," I say, my voice full of happiness. That's a rare feeling for me. I only feel this way when Katniss is sitting next to me like this. The moment that we walk back into the district, it fades away. I have to push all of my feelings down, and so does she. But for now, I just let my guard down and relax. It could be the very last chance we get. "We'll have a real feast." Bakery bread and fresh goat cheese. It's almost like a holiday, if you just ignore reality.

"I almost forgot! Happy Hunger Games!" I trill in a high-pitched voice that sounds almost like an authentic Capitol accent. Katniss grins as I begin to imitate Effie Trinket, District Twelve's appointed escort for the Games. I mimic her favorite catchphrase, which has become ubiquitous over the years. "And may the odds—" I begin, plucking a berry from the bush next to us and launching it into the air. I watch as Katniss opens her mouth just in time to catch it. She sinks her teeth into the skin, swallows, and finishes my words.

"—be _ever_ in your favor!" she says, her voice equally high-pitched. We both allow ourselves to laugh, because at the moment, it is funny. The Capitol accent is so ridiculous, and it's easy to forget about the reaping for the moment. Here we are, just sitting in the woods on a warm summer day, without a care in the world. But I can't forget when I look at Katniss and see the lines of worry that are permanently etched into her forehead.

I try to keep a pleasant look on my face as I slice up the loaf with my knife. Katniss's eyes are on me, and I can feel the mood changing. It's somber, serious. Everything seemed perfect, but I've learned that it's just an illusion. Nothing's perfect in Panem. The woods can't even provide solace in a place like this, because we know where we have to be in a few hours. Back in the district, standing in the square while Effie Trinket pulls out slips of paper with our names on them. Odds are, either Katniss or I will get picked today. The number of entries we have between us is staggering.

Silently, I spread the goat cheese over two slices of bread and top it with a basil leaf. I hand one to Katniss, who gives me a grateful look before plucking a handful of berries from a nearby bush. Hungrily, I take a few berries and pop them into my mouth, letting the tart juices dance on my tongue, and then I take a bite of the warm bread and savor it. Katniss and I eat in silence for a few minutes, just looking out across the valley and filling our hollow stomachs with rich, flavorful food. I'm content with the silence, only because I'm so comfortable with Katniss. We've always been like family—for years now, we've been mistaken for cousins because we look so similar. And that's the way we've treated each other. Of course, things have changed for me.

Normally, the quiet wouldn't bother me. I'd sit here, staring out at the view, eating my food without another thought. But I slowly realize that while I thought I was just enjoying the scenery, I've actually been staring at Katniss this entire time. My face flushes, but luckily, she doesn't notice. She's too busy staring off into space, not paying any attention to me. I can't stop myself from looking at her. Is it the way that her hair is falling into her eyes, giving her a mysterious quality? Or is it her contemplative, solemn expression that makes me yearn to know her on a deeper level? True, I'm her closest confidante, and she's mine, and I know everything about her, but lately I've been feeling like I haven't paid enough attention to Katniss Everdeen. There are so many girls out there, and I've been with a lot of them, but there is something about her that's different. I just wish I knew what it was.

"We could do it, you know," I hear myself saying quietly. I'm not sure why I spoke at all—I hadn't been planning to say anything, but something made me want to break the silence. Katniss turns to look at me with a curious look.

"What?" she asks, absentmindedly breaking off a piece of bread and chewing it thoughtfully. She sweeps her hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ears. Now I can see her gray eyes more clearly, and they are dark and serious and beautiful all at the same time. I've never been shy around girls before, but for some reason, I have to actually force myself to keep talking. My throat closes up, and I feel myself starting to sweat.

"Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods." I shrug at her, as if it's no big deal, as if I haven't really given that much thought to it. I'd be lying, though, if I said I hadn't. "You and I…" Now I catch Katniss's look of surprise, but it's not very reassuring. "…we could make it." I say this softly, but she's looking down at her lap, face flushed, and I know that she doesn't know what to make of this offer. I realize too late that I have overstepped an unspoken boundary.

For as long as I've known Katniss, it's been clear to me that the only person she really loves is Prim. She's told me as much, especially because she felt responsible for her when their father died. It's not as if I don't feel responsibility to my own siblings, but I think that Katniss has a stronger bond with Prim. She loves her like a mother would love her child, and perhaps that's why she is so protective over her. That's why she goes hunting every day, to provide for her sister. And that's why she takes out extra tesserae every month, to make sure that Prim won't be entered into the reaping more than once each year. I think that it makes Katniss's mother resentful, but Katniss doesn't see it that way. I know that in asking her to run away, she's thinking of abandoning Prim. And I could never ask her to do that. "If we didn't have so many kids," I add quickly, trying to provoke a smile. Of course, we don't have kids. But we do take care of our siblings as if they were our own children. I have my two brothers and my little sister. Katniss has Prim. We have our widowed mothers to be concerned about. That's a lot of responsibility weighing on our shoulders, but the burden is lessened when we are together, trying to figure it out. Katniss just glances up at me, her cheeks still tinged with pink, her face still serious.

"I never want to have kids," she says solemnly, picking at a stray blade of grass. I'm kind of surprised to hear that, given that she has done such a good job of taking care of Prim. But I guess I can't really blame her. This is a terrible place to raise children, if you consider that they could be sacrificed on national television by the time they turn twelve. What's the point of having kids in this sadistic place if you're only going to lose them in the end?

"I might," I say truthfully. "If I didn't live here." All I can think about now is just picking up and leaving this place with Katniss on my arm. We could bring our families with us, find a way to survive in the woods. I'm so tempted to run away today, knowing that in a few hours, everything could change. Any one of us could be reaped: me, Katniss, Prim, my brother Rory. The thought is too much to bear.

I prefer to think of a happier future. Well, maybe it's not happy if we have to flee our homes and make a new life for ourselves in the wilderness, but it would be simpler. We would live on our own terms. Imagining Katniss in my future is good enough for me. Knowing that we're both safe is even better.

But when I look at her, she's looking at me with narrowed eyes. "But you do live here," she says sharply, as if she's irritated that I'm daring to dream of escaping this hell. It's all I can think of. Ever since I started to feel something for Katniss, I've been thinking about this. Dreaming up a way to keep her safe. Trying to find a way to cement a future together. It's clear, however, that she doesn't want to think like that. I detect an edge of anger in her tone, and it frustrates me.

"Forget it," I say in a biting tone. I'm hurt, but there's no way that I'm going to tell her that. We've never fought before, in all the years that I've known her. Not like this. I'm humiliated and hurt that she's rejecting my offer. Now I'm not so sure that I want to tell her how I've been feeling, based upon her reaction to that. She stares at me, a confused look in her eyes, but I just shake my head and look away from her.

Feelings of desire are pointless right now. They're painful, because she obviously hasn't thought of a future with me. Everyone in the district that knows us has always assumed that we'd end up together at some point. And even though I didn't have feelings for Katniss before, I'd just believed it, too. We'd get married and blend our two families together, even though we are practically family already. Lately, I'd been thinking of having kids with her. I know it would change our friendship, but I never imagined that she'd be so resistant to the idea.

She tries to veer away from the subject, touching my arm gently so I'll meet her eyes again. There's a pang in my chest when I look at her, but she doesn't make any effort to be sympathetic. "What do you want to do?" she asks with a sigh, gesturing to the woods behind us. I'd almost forgotten. We have to gather and hunt and bring things back into the district to trade, before everyone closes their doors and prepares for the reaping.

"Let's fish at the lake," I suggest. It's close by, and the air is getting stickier by the minute. The cool water will be refreshing. "We can leave our poles and gather in the woods. Get something nice for tonight." Once the reaping is over this afternoon, we'll go home and celebrate with our families that we weren't chosen. Not that it's a particularly light affair, because we know that we'll have to watch two kids from our district be slaughtered within a week. Even so, it's a relief to know that we're safe for another year. I won't have to worry about myself ever again after today.

Katniss agrees. "I want it to be special," she says softly. "It's Prim's first reaping, and she's absolutely terrified. She had nightmares again last night."

"Well, for Prim's sake, we'll make sure it's a nice evening." I manage to smile, even though my heart still feels heavy. "Come on, then."

We're both quiet as we trek up to the lake. Once we reach it, we slip off our leather boots and stick our feet in the cool water, letting out sighs of relief. I can feel the sheen of sweat practically evaporating off my skin. We each find our make-shift fishing poles tucked away in a tiny cabin that we use sometimes on long hunts, and wait patiently for the fish to bite. Before long, we have a dozen fish. The lake is teeming with life this morning.

After that, we venture further into the woods and gather edible plants. Katniss has a lot of knowledge about that. Her mother is an apothecary—she has a book on which plants can be used for medical purposes. And her father was an excellent hunter, she tells me, so he knew which plants could be eaten. We find honeysuckles while we dig for katniss roots and mushrooms, and we put a drop of nectar on our tongues, savoring the sweetness. Then we pick strawberries from a bush that we found years ago. In our minds, we sort out what we can trade at the Hob, and what we can sell to our frequent customers.

The morning is over much too soon. The sun is almost directly overhead just as we reach the electric fence. Instinctively, we both pause, listening for the hum of electricity, but it's still silent. The Capitol would never suspect that two kids from the Seam would ever dare to cross the line into the woods, but we are both just brave enough to challenge authority in this way. I glance at Katniss before we go under the fence, crouched in the dirt. "Ready?" I say, just like I always do, before we cross back over into the district. She smiles at me sadly.

"We have to be." So we duck under the fence and head for the Hob.

Greasy Sae sees us from far away. "I hope you've brought better game this time, Gale!" she calls out teasingly. "At least Katniss is with you this time."

We near her stand, and Katniss bows her head slightly. "No meat this time around. But we do have some greens." She offers up a bag of freshly picked herbs, only things that she knows her mother has no use for. Greasy Sae lets out a sigh, but then she decides to take half of our bag. She trades us some paraffin, which we could trade elsewhere.

At other stands, we trade most of the fishes we caught for some bread and salt. We still have four left to spare, and plenty of greens that we can split between ourselves. All that's left is a gallon of strawberries that we can sell to the mayor, who can always be counted on to buy them.

Katniss and I duck out of the Hob and go around the back of Mayor Undersee's house. It's the largest house in town, but it's not nearly as well-furnished as the houses in the Victor's Village. This is the neighborhood at the edge of the district where the winners of the Hunger Games reside. Only one house is occupied today.

She knocks at the back door—two short raps and one long one. It's the signal that we have to let the mayor know that we've come around to sell. But today, it's his daughter, Madge, who answers the door.

Madge opens the door cautiously, her face full of worry, but she relaxes when she sees Katniss standing on the stoop. Her eyes flicker to mine, and she frowns. I don't think that she likes me very much. Come to think of it, I don't think she likes anyone very much. She's aloof. She sits by herself in school, and she doesn't talk. I've never been very intrigued by her, mostly because she looks so plain. But today, she's dressed up, wearing a white dress and a pink ribbon in her hair. I notice for the first time that she has bright green eyes, because her blond hair is actually tied back. Madge is surprisingly pretty, but she's still the mayor's daughter, which means she's privileged. I dislike her by default.

"Pretty dress," I say. I narrow my eyes at her, taking it all in. Fancy, expensive clothes from the Capitol. A gold pin on her dress. Money to spare on a half-gallon of strawberries. It makes me a little sick, to be honest. I don't care if she can see that I'm scrutinizing her.

Madge raises an eyebrow at me then presses her lips together tightly. She smiles, but she directs her eyes at Katniss. "Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?" Madge says innocently. Now she glances up at me, smoothing her skirt with her hands, almost self-consciously.

I feel a surge of anger, but I suppress it as best I can. How could she say that? This girl… she's the mayor's daughter. That has to come with special privileges. Something tells me that the reaping system is rigged, that the mayor's daughter won't be reaped because it would cause a problem in the district. It would be _unfair._ "You won't be going to the Capitol," I say, trying to stay calm. I can feel Katniss's eyes on me, glaring at me, imploring me to shut up. But I continue, because I like watching Madge's face twist up with confusion and annoyance. "What can you have? Five entries?" I shake my head at her, managing to give her a haughty smile. "I had six when I was just twelve years old." I realize that I'm talking down to her, but it feels good, being able to take that tone with a girl in a position of relative wealth and power.

"That's not her fault," Katniss interjects, nudging me.

I shake my head. "No, it's no one's fault." I'm talking to Katniss now, but I keep my eyes on Madge, who is positively squirming under my gaze. I feel myself starting to smile. "Just the way it is."

I don't look at Katniss until Madge has already pressed the coins into her hand in exchange for the strawberries. I can see Katniss flushing, probably because I humiliated her by being rude to her friend. Madge takes the bucket and gives Katniss a tight-lipped smile. "Good luck, Katniss." I notice that she doesn't look at me once as she says this. I roll my eyes.

"You, too," Katniss says genuinely. The door shuts in our faces, all pleasantries having been exchanged at this point. Katniss lets out a huff of exasperation, which I'm sure is directed at me. She starts to walk away in the direction of the Seam, and I fall into step beside her. Now I can let my real feelings show. I'm fuming, and she can see it. She looks up at me with concern in her eyes. Katniss must think that it's just because of this spat with Madge, but there's more to it. It's knowing that Katniss doesn't want to run away with me. It's the realization that the reaping is upon us, but I can't do a damn thing to stop it. I'm frustrated because I know that this system is so unjust.

I hate this, because a kid like Madge who has a relatively rich family can avoid taking out tesserae. She doesn't need to apply for a ration of grain and oil each month, because her father can afford things from the Capitol. High quality clothing and gourmet food, whatever _that _is. The rest of us live in rags and barely scrape by. Katniss and I are fortunate because we know how to hunt, so we have quality food each day, but we still have to take out tesserae. It makes it all the more likely that we'll be reaped, just because we're too poor to buy the necessary provisions to survive. And that means that mostly poor kids will be thrown into the arena. It's like population control, or a way to divide us all against ourselves. It's a system that makes me hate people like Madge, or the shop keepers' kids. That boy at the bakery this morning, who I barely even know, infuriates me because I know he has fresh bread to eat every day, while I have to get up at the crack of dawn to trade for a loaf. I know it's unfair to judge these kids, because it means that I'm playing right into the hands of the people who set up this system, but my resentment is there.

We stop in front of my house. Katniss gently reminds me that we need to split up our goods. We each take a two fishes, some loaves of bread, salt, chunks of paraffin, edible herbs, and strawberries. Katniss presses some coins into my palm, and I glance at her when her fingers brush my skin. She holds her hand there for a few seconds too long, but then she shrugs. "It's half of what Madge gave me."

I nod silently, still fuming inside. To Madge, this money was dispensable. But to Katniss and I, divided in half, it's enough to provide for both of our families for a few weeks.

"See you in the square," she says, starting to walk away.

I watch her go. "Wear something pretty," I mutter, but it's just loud enough for her to catch. She frowns, shaking her head, and heads home.

_A/N:_ _What do you think so far? I meant to go all the way to the reaping, up until Katniss volunteers, but it was already 14 pages in a Word document, so I figured that it could wait until Chapter 3. I still want to take the time to develop Gale's relationship with his family and all of that, so please bear with me. (And yes, I am working my way up to the "Gadge" stuff... maybe Chapter 4? Don't worry, I have a plan for how that's going to start.) Anyway, I appreciate the reviews I got on Chapter 1... This is new for me, so I really LOVE reviews and I would love to hear what you think. This chapter's a little more in depth, so please let me know if it's too draggy or good detail or... Well, just let me know. CHAPTER THREE WILL BE UP SOON, I PROMISE! _


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Hello, everyone! I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter. It's kind of long, and I wanted to get it just right. Gale's relationship with his family had to be established, and if I rushed it, it wouldn't have been as genuine. But luckily for you, this is a longer chapter. Plenty more to enjoy. _

_I included yet another flashback (you're welcome) and a little bit of foreshadowing (Gadge shippers, anyone?). I promise, it's getting a lot more interesting. And I can't wait until I can stray from the book and start writing my own stuff. I feel a little tied down to the original text, but soon, I'll have the freedom to write whatever I want for Gale. And wait till you see what I have planned..._

_Don't forget to leave a review! Enjoy Chapter Three!_

There is heaviness hanging over me now, and I can't avoid it any longer. I walk through my front door, feeling like my shoulders are slumped over in defeat. I can't do that, though. Not in front of my family. I have to put on a brave face for them today.

Almost immediately, my brothers coming flying at me, sprinting over from the adjacent room. "Gale!" my younger brother Vick cries out, jumping on me in an attempt to tackle me to the ground. Even though I'm significantly taller and stronger than him—I've cleared six feet since I was thirteen—I feign weakness and fall to my knees. I pretend to sigh, defeated, which makes Vick laugh.

"You got me," I say, raising my hands above my head in surrender. I hold out a hand to him so he can pull me to my feet. Vick grins at me as I lean over to embrace him. I notice that my arms wrap easily around him. He's scrawny, even for a ten year old kid. I can feel his ribs poking into me, but to look at him, you wouldn't be able to tell. He's wearing a baggy old shirt, faded from years of being handed down, and it conceals his emaciated body. I frown as I drop my arms, but I try to turn my expression into a smile so he doesn't think that something's wrong. I don't want to worry him.

We've got enough to worry about today.

I catch Rory looking at me over Vick's shoulder. He nods at me, a slight smile tracing his features. You can see how young he is—his face still looks full, almost childish. But today, he won't be considered a child anymore. Now that he's twelve, he is eligible for the reaping. And it scares me to death to consider the possibility of him being chosen. "We were waiting for you," he says. "How did the hunt go?"

"Good," I say, crossing to the center of the room to clap a hand over his shoulder. For a moment, I wonder if this will be one of the last times that I'll get to do that. But no, the thought is too painful. My fingers tighten around his shoulder, squeezing away the pain for just a second, just like I had gripped my mother's shoulder on the day of the memorial all those years ago.

I think that the pain flits across my face, because Rory looks solemn for a moment. He stares up at me with sadness ingrained in his features. Again, I try to push my feelings back, and I force another smile. I don't do this for anyone but my family. "It was good," I say again. Thinking positively, that's what I have to do. I take my game bag off my shoulder and hold it out to my brothers. Vick and Rory peer into the bag, indulging in peals of delighted laughter when they see what I have to offer. Good, hearty bread. Fish. Strawberries. And, best of all, money.

Again, Vick rushes at me, wrapping his arms around my waist tightly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he murmurs into my shirt, as if this is the best thing that's ever happened to him. I hesitate for a moment before hugging him back, trying to fight back the tears that are filling my eyes. I see Rory staring at me, the smile dropping off his face when he sees me starting to crack, so I blink them away quickly. I mutter something about the sun in my eyes and walk into the kitchen to set down the game bag.

It's just so painful. These kids could not be more grateful for the things that I do to keep them alive. I'm not so sure that Vick understands it—he's still a young kid, how could he possibly understand how impoverished we are if that's all he knows? But Rory… now that he's twelve, he seems to understand what I do for our family. He's seen the risks I take for them, which I take gladly. Yet he can see just how bad our situation is, by comparing it to the merchant class in town. By looking at the shining Capitol on television every year. Even so, he's still appreciative, despite the fact that what I give him is the bare minimum.

They trail behind me, like two miniature versions of myself. We all look the same in this family—straight black hair, piercing gray eyes. Well, except for my little sister, Posy, who has fine red hair, sparkling green eyes, and a creamy white complexion. You'd almost think that she didn't belong to us. The rest of us are like carbon copies of my father. I've found that, with age, I have come to look like him. Tall, muscular, solemn. I've filled his place as the man of the house. That's why, when Posy was much younger, she called me Dad. She never knew my father—he died before she was born—and just assumed that it was me.

Rory taps me on my shoulder while I'm unpacking my game bag, setting the goods out on the wobbly kitchen table. "So…" he says, dragging out the word until I actually turn to look at him. He wears a smirk on his lips that I can't ignore. "How was she?"

"Who? Katniss?" I say, turning my back on him again, busying myself with the game bag. I can hear my voice cracking on her name, and I flush. Rory and Vick snicker behind me, so I compose myself before facing them. "She was fine_._ But she didn't shoot anything today. I shot a squirrel, though." I say this with mock pride, puffing out my chest.

Vick gives me a skeptical look. "Did she help you?"

"_No,_" I say, pretending to scowl at him. Then I break into a smile, which feels so forced and so stiff, but the boys seem to buy it. "In fact, I traded it for some bread. From the _bakery._" I let the words sink in. Their faces light up for a moment. I dig through the bag, coming up with half a loaf, leftover from this morning's breakfast. Their hands reach out for it—bony, skeleton fingers yearning for a piece of fresh bread—but I have to hold them off for a little longer. It can wait until lunch.

"Did you eat some of it earlier?" Rory asks, and I nod. "With _Katniss?_" His voice takes on a teasing tone. Again, I nod, trying to ignore the way he says this, with his eyebrow raised and his lips curled up in a smirk. I've never said anything about my feelings for Katniss to my brothers—they're too young to understand that. She's been considered a part of our family for years now. Maybe everyone believed we'd get married someday, and maybe that's where they got the idea. But it's as if Rory has picked up on something, and he won't let it go.

Vick starts to sing behind me, an old schoolyard song that I'd almost forgotten. "_Gale and Katniss, sittin' in a tree… K-I-S-S-I-N-G…_" he drawls, loudly enough so I can hear him. I can feel my back starting to heat up, like it does when I get really embarrassed. That's rare, but Vick has hit a raw nerve.

"All right, you two," I say now, putting a hand on each of their backs. "I think that it's time that you started getting dressed for the reaping." They start to protest, loudly, but I give them a good-natured shove towards the bedroom. "Go on. We'll be eating soon."

As they shuffle out of the kitchen, I sink into a small, creaky chair and lay my head down on the table. The cool wood feels good against my flushed skin. It's not that their teasing is particularly brutal—I can handle it, obviously. But the song is getting to me, mostly because there's truth to it.

It almost happened once. A few months ago, not long after I realized how I felt about Katniss. It was in the middle of the winter, and we had been out hunting all day. Night was creeping up on us, and we didn't realize how late it was, because the sky had been growing dark since the late afternoon. Once we approached the electric fence, with game in hand, it became clear that the electric current had been switched on. We were stuck until the district shut it off, which meant that we'd have to climb up in a tree, high away from predators. It had happened to us several times in the past, so this was kind of routine.

Katniss climbed up ahead of me, skillfully darting from branch to branch like a squirrel, until she nestled on a slender limb. It could support the two of us easily—she beckoned for me to follow, laughing at my clumsy attempts to get a solid grip on the tree trunk, slick with ice. A little bruised and slightly humiliated, I eventually made my way up to the fork in the branches, and took a seat next to her.

To pass the time, we talked for a while. The floodgates had opened for me by the time we were regularly hunting together, once I realized that I could trust her. Neither of us are particularly talkative, me least of all, but I could always talk to Katniss about anything. We'd talked a lot about our fathers passing away, the strain we felt when we struggled to provide for our families. I never thought I'd be able to open up to somebody about how that felt, the giant gaping hole that his death left in my heart, until I met Katniss and she confessed to me that she had felt the same way.

That night, we found ourselves talking about our families. It had been five years since the explosion, five years of hunting to stay alive. "It's funny, but I feel like…like maybe this was supposed to happen to us," she said to me at one point, swinging her legs back and forth as she spoke. "That I was meant to take care of Prim and my mother like this. Even if it meant that our fathers had to die for it." Katniss looked contemplative, her eyes not quite focused on me. "Don't you get that feeling sometimes?" she asked suddenly.

I scoffed at this. "No. We didn't deserve for this to happen." I shook my head at her, furrowing my brow. "None of this should be happening. What kind of country forces kids to go into an arena to kill each other?"

Here she rolled her eyes at me, suddenly alert. "Ugh. I wasn't even thinking about that."

"And what kind of place lets families starve after the father is killed in its mines?" I continued, not quite finished with my thought process. "I know that we didn't deserve to go through this. This isn't _living_, Katniss. We're not living. I can't help but feel like we've been…punished for something we didn't even do." I could feel my face hardening into that mask of stone that I had crafted so carefully over the years.

Katniss looked down at her gloved hands. The wool was threadbare, insufficient for keeping her warm on a cold night like this one. "I know, Gale," she said now quietly. A heavy pall had been cast over us, and I regretted it almost immediately.

After a few moments of silence, I cleared my throat. "You might be right, though," I said in a low voice. She turned to look at me curiously, and I met her eyes. "I mean, we could have just died of starvation five years ago and taken our families with us." Even in the dark, I could see Katniss's face paling. "But…do you think that maybe our fathers helped us get here, in some way?" I asked this slowly, allowing a smile to work its way onto my lips.

Her face brightened a little at that. "Maybe." Then she let her eyes drop to her lap again, her features infused with heaviness. "Sometimes… when I think about the day that I almost died, I think that if it wasn't for that b—" She quickly cut herself off. I was tempted to ask her what she was trying to say, but Katniss was pressing her lips tightly together, as if she wished she hadn't said anything at all. I'd heard the story before. Something about her starving to death, almost expiring in the middle of town on a rainy day, before realizing that her salvation was the woods. But maybe there was something more to the story. I didn't dare ask. "Never mind," she said, shaking her head.

I didn't say anything for a few minutes. We listened to the wind howling through the trees, wild dogs echoing the strains in the distance. Bitter cold air seeped into my bones, but there was nothing that could make me want to move. I turned to look at Katniss, whose face was set in a frown, and felt something strange in my chest. A stab of pain, my heart skipping a beat. It was new, but it felt oddly wonderful. My eyes settled on her lips, which were pulled downward, and I couldn't tear them away.

"Do you think… that we were meant to find each other?" I heard myself asking in a throaty voice. It surprised me, the forwardness of my words. Whenever I'd been flirting with a girl, I had relied on being mysterious, on evading her questions and just avoiding talking so much. But now, I found the words that had been in the back of my mind for five years just tumbling out of my mouth without warning. Katniss glanced up at me, looking equally surprised. "In the woods, I mean." I stumbled to cover up quickly, but I was sure that an uncharacteristic flush had crept into my cheeks. What was she doing to me?

"Yes," she whispered, her breath visible in the cold air. Wisps of white fog curled around her face, not quite covering her bright gray eyes. I stared at her, transfixed. "Honestly, Gale, I don't know what I'd do without you."

Now my gaze dropped back to her lips. Even as the cold air escaped from between her lips, I couldn't help but think that they were probably still warm. The fog dissipated, and I could see her eyes tracing my line of sight. I wasn't sure if she could tell what I was thinking—I didn't know what I was thinking myself. If what she'd just said to me wasn't an invitation for me to kiss her, then I didn't know what was.

My hands found hers, which were still resting in her lap, and they were icy. I gripped them tightly, then gathered my resolve to move in closer to her before she could protest. Katniss didn't say a word—she stared back at me with some confusion in her eyes, and I did nothing to explain my motives. Before I knew it, our faces were just inches apart, and I was dying to meet her lips. Then out of nowhere, she jerked her hands away from me, her eyes widening. "Hear that?" she said loudly, turning her face away from mine.

"Hear what?" I asked after a long pause, my heart sinking from my throat deep into the pit of my stomach. But when I forced myself to come back to reality, blinked the fog from my eyes, I realized that the electric hum from the fence had melted away. It was completely silent again, safe for us to pass through. We could go home now.

I'd never been so disappointed in my life.

Katniss eagerly slid down the branch and shimmied her way down the trunk of the tree, as if she couldn't wait to get out of the woods. I, however, followed her with a heavy heart and burning cheeks. I didn't know if she understood what I was trying to do. And neither did I, come to think of it. At the time, my feelings for Katniss had only recently surfaced. I struggled with seeing her as a friend, a hunting partner, a member of my family, as well as an amazing girl who turned my world upside down.

I tried to convince myself that it didn't mean anything. That I was only grabbing her hand because it was cold out, that I was delirious or coming down with something. I thought that I had misinterpreted my feelings for her. Maybe it was a crush, and maybe it would pass in a few days, like it usually did. But they didn't pass, and for days, the only thing I could think about was the way she'd said, _"I don't know what I'd do without you."_ It _had_ to mean something. Right?

Well, I got my answer this morning. There is no way that she sees me in the same way. Our almost-kiss a few months ago was clearly imagined on my part, and forgotten on hers. We never spoke of it again, mostly because I was too embarrassed. That was new, too. I'd never felt so clumsy or inept around a girl before. And suddenly, here Katniss was, making my heart pound faster and making me say stupid things.

I force myself to lift my head off the table. There's so much that has to get done, and daydreaming about her isn't going to help me. Slowly, I get out of the chair and head into the other room, where we all sleep. My mother, my three younger siblings, and me. I've come to accept this utter lack of privacy, but I can't deal with the way this place looks. The room is a disaster—we have two beds, each with sunken mattresses, and a pile of coal-dusted blankets on the floor. A cracked mirror leans against one battered wall. One lone window, covered in grime, lets in some much-needed light. And that's it. It goes to show how poor we are. No matter how many times I work at cleaning up the place, it falls to pieces again.

My mother sits on the edge of the bed she shares with the two youngest kids, pulling my sister Posy's hair back. When I stop in the doorway and examine her from afar, I can see how her hands are shaking. Hazelle isn't as good at hiding her feelings as I am, but most of the time, the kids are too young to realize what's going on. She's long since stopped crying herself to sleep, because even little Posy could understand that something was wrong, and it made the kids anxious.

"Mom," I say gently, and she turns her head, sees me standing there. With a cry, she abandons braiding Posy's hair, and gets up off the bed so she can embrace me. I hold my arms out to her, keeping her close because it makes her feel secure. Posy leaps up, too, and wraps her arms around my leg.

"You're back," Posy squeals, and I drop one of my hands so I can reach down and ruffle her hair. With every day that passes, I feel more and more like this child's father. I wish that it didn't have to be that way, but I've basically accepted that responsibility.

Every time I go out for a hunt, early in the morning, my mother wakes up. She can't relax until she knows that I'm home, that I'm safe. I know it's because she never expected to lose her husband when he went off to work as usual, so she feels like something could happen to me out there. I always reassure her that I'm fine and that I know what I'm doing, but it's clear that she isn't happy until I'm here. She hugs me tighter today, though, because we all know what day it is. And honestly, I'm not ready to let go of her either.

"How was it today?" she asks, mumbling into my shoulder. I smile down at her, this slight woman with graying hair and a frail frame. She feels so small to me. I can't remember ever looking up to her, relying on her to take care of me. It's been reversed for five years now.

"We did well," I say simply. I step back so that she can look at me. Meanwhile, Posy lets go of my leg and darts away. "I shot a squirrel by myself. Traded it for some bakery bread." Her eyes widen at that, and I grin at her. "And Katniss and I made some trades, so we have things for tonight."

She nods, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Good. Good." I can tell that she's still a little shaky, still nervous that I was in danger somehow. "And you were okay out there?" She gulps.

I lay a hand on her shoulder, comforting her. "Mom, I'm eighteen now. I think I can handle myself in the woods. I've been doing it for years." I know that this won't be enough to convince her, but I keep repeating it anyway. "Besides, I brought back some money. It should be enough to cover us for the rest of the week."

My mother gives me a relieved smile now. "That's good to hear." Her hand reaches up to touch my cheek. I let her, because sometimes I think that she wishes she could act like a mother to me again.

Now Posy's dancing around my feet, chirping about something. "Mom's doing my hair for the reaping!" she crows, tugging at my untucked shirt. Her green eyes are shining, and she's awash with excitement. Then she pauses, sticking her thumb into her mouth. "Gale, what's the reaping?"

I give my mother a sideways glance, and she just shakes her head. She tries to smile, but we're both overcome with heaviness. Even so, I scoop Posy up with one arm, and she screams with delight. "The place we go at this time every year. To…to celebrate the Hunger Games," I say, the words sticking in my throat. "Look, I'll tell you about it when you're older. But for now, you don't have to worry about the reaping." Posy stares at me with intense wide eyes. I wish for a moment that I could have just an ounce of her innocence. "Why don't you finish getting ready? Then we can all have lunch before we go," I say, setting her back down on the ground gently. "I should get ready, too." I glance at my mother, and she nods.

"Water's still warm. You can wash up," she says, trying to keep Posy from squirming away from her. "And you know where your reaping clothes are."

"Thanks," I say, and I leave the room so I can make myself look presentable for the most barbaric display in the world.

It takes some time to wash the dirt from my skin. I douse myself in lukewarm water, and I scrub my body furiously. I wonder why I'm putting so much effort into this—it's my last reaping, and it's not as though I want to support this cause by looking nice. I have to go, much to my chagrin. If I don't, the Peacekeepers will come to the house in search of me, with an arrest warrant in hand. Not that they even need the warrant. They could take me against my will, simply because I refuse to participate in a death match.

The dirt, it seems, is part of my chemical makeup. It's under my fingernails, in the crevices in my skin, but it's all so natural. I can't separate myself from the woods, nor can it separate itself from me. I find myself unwilling to wash this last trace of the woods away from my body. If the arena is my fate, I want to take a piece of the woods with me, as silly as that sounds.

I pull one of my father's old, dull knives that he used to use for shaving out of our medicine cabinet after working the soap on my face into a lather. Carefully, I drag the sharper edge of the knife against the stubble on my chin, but my mind is elsewhere. I wonder if my name will be drawn in the reaping this afternoon. It's not impossible. Just this morning, Katniss and I had discussed what might happen if one of us was selected. Her name is entered twenty times into the reaping bowl. Mine is entered forty-two times. In any district, that's an exorbitant amount of entries—especially in District Twelve. The likelihood of being chosen is higher than ever.

The knife nicks my skin, drawing blood, but I barely notice. I splash my face with water, clearing away the soap, and press down on the cut until the bleeding stops. With my free hand, I hold the knife up and examine it carefully. The blade isn't particularly sharp, but that shouldn't be a problem. I know exactly which artery to hit—I'd die almost instantly if I pierced my jugular. Lazily, I raise the knife to the tender spot on the left side of my neck, pressing the cold metal to my skin.

Yet my mother's face flashes before my eyes, and I can see her and Rory, Vick, and Posy standing over my body, sobbing with wild abandon. I can't take my life like this, not today. Leaving my family to find me lying in a pool of blood when they've come to depend on me would be cruel. I care about them too much to go through with it. But that doesn't mean that I haven't considered doing this a thousand times before. The pressure of the blade feels familiar against my neck at this point.

It would be so easy to end it all, right now, but I have so many people that need me. My family, Katniss's mother and sister. I know that Katniss needs me, though she won't ever admit it aloud. Romantically involved or not, I realize that she cares about me. I've seen the fear in her eyes when I tell her that soon, I'll be working in the mines and my life will be in danger. We're all that each other has. I can't be selfish and take my life.

So, I lower the knife and force myself to get dressed in my reaping clothes. My father's old clothes—a loose, faded blue button-down shirt, and a pair of worn-out gray slacks. These are the nicest clothes that I own, but I dread wearing them. They remind me too much of the strife ahead.

I notice, as I pass out of the bathroom and through our bedroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the cracked mirror, that these clothes also remind me too much of my father. Because today, I look just like him.

As I cross into the kitchen and see my family crowded around the lopsided table, I'm overwhelmed with a sense of dread. This uncertainty is painful. Will we all make it out of the reaping without a hitch? Something makes me doubt that, and the notion that something's about to go awry is needling at the back of my mind. I'm distracted, though, when my mother glances up at me, and her face breaks into a teary smile.

"Gale, you look so…handsome," she says, slowly getting up from her seat. I duck my head shyly, but I manage to lift my eyes to her and give her a wry smile. Just as I do, her hands find my face, and she holds on tightly. Tears spill down her cheeks silently. She doesn't move, doesn't give any indication of this away to the kids, so I try to keep my expression level. My mother clears her throat gently. "You're getting too old." With that, she drops her hands and covers her mouth in an attempt to compose herself. I can see in her eyes that she's more than just emotional—she's frightened.

Rory, Vick, and Posy are gathered around the table, staring up at me anxiously. I give them a smile to set them at ease, and I can feel them relaxing almost immediately. "Well, you all clean up nicely," I say in the happiest voice that I can manage. It's a strain, but I doubt that they can hear the bitterness in the depths of my tone.

Posy practically leaps out of her seat, scrambling to show me her reaping clothes. "See this new dress, Gale?" she exclaims, spinning around in a wide circle, nearly toppling over. I reach down and grab her by her spindly arms to steady her. A stream of delighted laughter escapes her lips. "Isn't it beautiful?" Now Posy picks up the skirt, spreading it out with her fingers as if the cloth is delicate and expensive. But I know it's not. I traded a bag of fresh herbs for it in the Hob last week. The dress is much too big on Posy—it's pinned up in the shoulders and in the sides. Besides, the thin gray fabric is moth-eaten and smells of sour milk. Even my mother, who has been washing clothes for our neighbors in the Seam, couldn't get the stains out. Yet Posy is dancing around in it as if it were straight from the Capitol.

I bend down to give Posy a light kiss on her forehead, and she giggles. "It's perfect." Then I straighten up and look at Rory and Vick, who are watching me quietly from their seats. They each have hand-me-down reaping clothes—shirts and slacks that I wore to reapings when I was their age. These clothes are well past their prime, but it's all we have. We can ill afford to buy all new clothes, not when we have things that still fit. It's impractical. "You two look nice." Their hair is combed back neatly, and their shirts are tucked in. Vick makes a face, pulling at his stiff collar, but Rory just gives me a terse nod.

"You, too, Gale." He smiles, but it doesn't hide the fear in his eyes.

I go to work, scaling the fishes and making a pot of boiling water. After chopping up some of the herbs finely and adding it to the water, I cut the fish into chunks and toss that into the pot. We have some fish soup for later tonight. I wash some strawberries and cut up the rest of the bakery bread, setting it all out on a plate, arranging it as carefully as I can. By the time I'm finished, even my hands are tremulous with hunger. My siblings are salivating at my elbows, but I hold them off until I set the food down at the kitchen table. A simple lunch before the reaping, just like we've had every year.

Having composed herself, my mother takes her place at the table, and serves herself first. Once she's done that, I let the kids take some food. We all eat in silence for a few minutes. Nobody is quite sure of what to say. No matter what we say or do, the reaping still hangs over our heads. The feeling of dread can't be dispelled.

"So, Mom," I start after the silence has lingered for too long. My mother glances up at me, a slice of half-eaten bread in hand. "I just wanted to let you know that the Everdeens will be coming over tonight for dinner, after the reaping. If that's okay with you." I add this last part to give her a little power—we both know that the decision has been made, but she goes along with it.

"That's fine by me," she says. "Just like every year." She musters up a tired smile. I think that this annual dinner with the Everdeens is a comfort to her. Mrs. Everdeen has lost just as much as my mother has. They find solace in each other's company, particularly on a difficult day like the reaping. It's kind of like how I feel about Katniss.

Rory kicks me under the table, and I turn to him, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Will _Katniss_ be here?" he asks mockingly. Vick snorts, loudly, and my mother gives them a curious glance. I can feel my skin flushing again.

"Yes, Rory. She's here every year. They're… practically family," I say in a measured tone. Satisfied with my response, I pick up a strawberry and pop it into my mouth. I swallow, and then I smirk at him. "You know, Primrose will be here, too." I watch as his face turns a shade of crimson, and shake my head at him good-naturedly.

My mother glances between Rory and I, letting her gaze settle on me for a while. I chew in silence, trying to ignore Rory and Vick's stifled laughter, before meeting her eyes. It's almost as if she's seeing into me, searching for an answer. I don't know what she's looking for. But suddenly, her red eyes fill up with tears again, which she is quick to blink away. "What is it, Mom?" I ask gently, and she lifts a hand to shield her eyes.

"Nothing," she says, but everyone in the room can tell that she's lying. We all grow quiet. Finally, she speaks, pulling her hand away but keeping her eyes focused on the table. "It's just that…you look so much like your father today." Her voice cracks on the words. "And I honestly don't know if I could handle losing you, too, now."

I force myself to swallow the painful lump in my throat. I don't usually cry—it's just easier to push my feelings away—but this is getting to me. For the sake of the kids, I hide my pain. "Mom," I say quietly as I reach my hand across the table for hers. She avoids my eyes but slips her hand into mine. "You're not going to lose me. I promise."

"How can you promise something like that?" she murmurs, just loudly enough for the kids to pick up. "You take out all of those tesserae for yourself, for Rory, for the family. How many entries is that?" For a moment, it seems as though she's just talking to herself, because she shakes her head without looking up. I feel Rory's eyes on me, but I don't look at him, not sure what to say to him. Then my mother's head snaps up, and she repeats herself sharply. "How many entries, Gale?"

I'm surprised by the forcefulness of her tone, the fire in her eyes. But I gulp, tightening my grip around her slender fingers. "Forty-two."

At that, my mother practically crumbles. She sinks lower into her seat, not even bothering to conceal her sobs. Hastily, I wipe my mouth on my sleeve, having lost all appetite for this meager lunch. I get out of my seat and kneel by her side on the floor. "Don't start, Mom. You'll make them upset," I whisper through clenched teeth. The last thing we need is to make the kids cry before we even get to the square. I clear my throat and look back at the three gaunt, frightened faces staring at me. "You don't have to worry. It's not a lot of entries," I lie, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "Besides, we have a plan in case I am chosen. Remember?" I keep my tone light. "Katniss will hunt for you. She'll make sure you're all fed and taken care of until I come home. And that's only if I get picked."

Another choked sob escapes my mother's lips. "B-but…what ha-happens if you don't… c-come home?" she asks, burying her face in her hands. "I c-can't…lose you."

"We haven't even gone to the reaping yet!" I exclaim, and she peeks out from behind her fingers. I have to place my hands on her shoulders and speak firmly so she won't slip away on me. "You have to trust me. Even if I did get chosen, don't you think I could fight my way out?" I study her carefully, until she drops her hands and looks me straight in the eye. "I hunt, Mom. And I'm strong. If I can feed a family of five by myself, I can win."

She takes a deep breath. I wait patiently for her to release it, and as she does, the energy in the room relaxes significantly. I can feel the kids shifting in their seats, finally daring to breathe again. I cast an apologetic glance at them all, silently thanking them for being so brave. Because this is not my mother. She doesn't break down like this anymore. She's not like Mrs. Everdeen. I thought she was stronger than this, but seeing her acting this way makes me really hope that I won't be chosen.

"I'm sorry," she says in a shaky voice. "I think I'll go…wash up before we leave." She rises uncertainly from the table and disappears into the bathroom.

Now I turn my attention to the kids. "Come here, all of you." They line up before me, and I kneel on the ground in front of them, making sure they are all presentable. I smooth Posy's hair back with one hand, and wipe stray bread crumbs off her lips. I tie Vick's worn-out shoes up tightly, because they're too big and I don't want him slipping out of them. And last, I fix the collar on Rory's shirt. He stares at me with wide eyes, clearly petrified.

"Listen to me," I say in a low voice, holding him by the shoulders. "I know it's your first reaping. And I can't guarantee anything, but I want you to understand that I have done everything I can to make sure you won't be chosen. Don't panic about this." Rory stares at me unblinkingly, so I shake him gently. "Do you hear me? Don't worry."

He nods, but it's weak and he looks like he's about to cry. "I won't."

"Good," I say, and I straighten up. In a loud voice, I say, "We'll have a nice dinner tonight. And Katniss and Prim will be here." Something to look forward to, once this horrific day is over.

We wait patiently by the door until my mother emerges from the bathroom, eyes red and puffy, but more or less composed. She murmurs a quick apology to the kids, and they each give her a hug in turn. When she straightens, I see her giving me a fearful look. I can't do anything about that, though. It's almost two o'clock—nothing I can do to stop this from happening. "Let's go." I scoop Posy up into my arms, and she giggles, as if this entire afternoon was stress-free. I offer a hand to my mother, which she accepts, gripping it tightly. Vick and Rory hover next to her. And I know that we're ready to move on.

As soon as we've stepped outside, I understand that there is no turning back. No hiding, as much as I might want to. We march on towards our fate, whatever that may be. Though I keep telling my family not to worry, that the chances of me being chosen are slim, I know that it's a lie. I go back to mentally preparing myself for this. Working out my strategy in the arena, figuring out what I could do to get sponsors. Charm the hell out of these rich Capitol people? That's not my forte. Exploit my looks at all costs, like the winner of the 65th Annual Hunger Games, Finnick Odair, did? I might have to.

The square has transformed since I last saw it this morning. Even from a distance, you can see the Capitol flags and banners flying high. Splashes of red and gold brighten up the gray skies, but my stomach clenches at the sight.

We must be arriving late, because the square is thick with throngs of anxious people. Towards the back, there's a sign-in table, where all the citizens of District Twelve must acknowledge that they are here for the mandatory reaping. In front of the makeshift stage is an area sectioned off by ropes, broken into the seven age groups. Every person between the ages of twelve and eighteen must stand in these sections, like herded cattle. I'll be standing in the eighteen year-old section; Rory will be on the opposite end with the twelve year-olds.

My mother loosens her grip on my hand when we near the crowd. "I'll sign us in," she says, glancing up at me with tears in her eyes. Yet she holds her composure well, surprisingly enough. She reaches for Posy, lifting her out of my arms, and for the first time today, Posy begins to wail. Maybe she can sense what's happening. In any case, I take my family into my arms, squeezing them all as tight as I can. Posy's screams abate, and we're all silent in spite of the noise around us. I savor the moment, not wanting to let go. But I have to.

"Vick and Posy, you're coming with me," my mother says firmly, reaching for each of their hands. She turns to go once they've latched on, and I take a protective step towards Rory. Yet she pauses, glancing over her shoulder. "Good luck, you two. I love you both." Her voice breaks on the last word. Tears spill down her cheeks, but she turns away before either of us can react. She melts away into the crowd before I know it.

Now I'm left alone with Rory. There's no time to spare, so I say, "I'll walk you to your place." I try to guide him along, keeping my hand on his shoulder, but he doesn't budge. Rory stands frozen in his place, and when I look down at him, I can see his eyes widening at the sight of the clump ahead. He's shaking with fear.

"Can't…do it," Rory says, his voice trembling. "I can't." I expect him to throw himself to the ground, sobbing like a little kid, but he holds his ground. My heart aches for him, remembering my first reaping, how terrified I was. I kneel down to his level again to calm him down.

"Hey," I say, slipping my fingers under his chin. Rory holds his gaze on the giant screens ahead, on the cameramen perched on the rooftops of the familiar shops in the square. "Look at me." His eyes slide over to mine, and I can see that I've got his attention for just a few seconds. "I know this is scary. But it's your first reaping. You're not going to get picked." I let the words sink in for a moment before continuing. "I'm here for you. You're going to be okay."

Rory squints, ostensibly to keep the tears from falling. "Do you ever get scared, Gale?" he asks in a tiny voice. I suck in a breath. I can't lie to him, can't unsettle him by saying that the reaping has kept me awake at night for months now.

"I was scared to death when I was your age," I say honestly. "But by the time you're my age, you'll realize that you would rather look out for Vick and Posy than yourself. That you'd rather take out tesserae in their place, because the idea of watching them get picked is even scarier." Rory blinks at me, his body starting to deflate. "I don't mean to upset you. But keep it in mind." I let out a sigh and straighten out, reaching for his hand. "You can do this, Rory."

He wraps his fingers gratefully around mine, and we walk slowly to the clump of kids before the makeshift stage. I can hear him breathing heavily, feel the sweat from his palms on my own. We don't say anything until we have stopped in front of the twelve year-old section. "Well, here we a—" I start, but without warning, Rory wraps his arms around my waist. I hesitate for a moment before hugging him back. I have no doubt that he'll be okay. But that doesn't mean I'm still anxious for him.

"Thanks, Gale," he says quietly before pulling away. I look down into his eyes, see a younger, kinder version of myself looking back, and I gulp. I can't let him see my fear.

"Good luck," I say. And now I have to walk away, into my designated section, trusting that I've done everything I could for his sake. I don't dare to turn around for the last time. There's no way that I can bring myself to stare my past in the face.

Now I ease my way into the clump of eighteen year-olds. The people standing around me are from my classes in school, but I've rarely spoken to them, finding them dull and unwilling to take risks. I notice that they all look mildly bored, having gone through this routine a total of seven times. Maybe they don't have anyone to worry about. But I do.

I become aware of a couple of girls standing around me. In spite of the somber mood, I can hear them whispering to each other and giggling, staring in my direction. It's not very discreet, but I don't think that they're trying to be. I watch them out of the corner of my eye as they smooth their hair back, in an effort to impress me or something. It could not be a worse time to try to flirt with me.

But something catches my eye. When I turn my head a fraction of an inch to the right, I see Katniss in the midst of the group of sixteen year-olds. Her hair is gathered back into an elaborate braid, different from the one she sports on a daily basis. And she wears a simple blue dress—it's probably a hand-me-down from her mother, but she stands out in it, because the district is a sea of gray. She's sophisticated, poised, stunning.

Katniss must notice that I'm looking at her, because she turns in my direction and meets my eyes. She shoots me a rare smile, and I return it, even though we are both fully aware of how grim this situation is. One of the girls behind me scoffs, obviously noticing Katniss's eyes on me.

I don't drop my gaze, and neither does Katniss. We don't have to speak to know what the other is saying. I can see her thoughts in her eyes.

_It's your last reaping, Gale. And even though you have forty-two entries—_here, she raises an eyebrow—_I know you'll make it out all right. _

I shrug. _I'm not concerned about me. _Now I bite my bottom lip, trying not to show weakness, trying desperately to hold onto my tough exterior, but she can see through it. _What about Rory and Prim? _I lower my gaze slightly. _And you?_

Katniss just shakes her head slightly. _Don't worry about me. _

But I can't help myself. The odds are against both of us. I have forty-two entries to my name, while Katniss has twenty. It's hard _not_ to worry about her, knowing that the likelihood of her name being chosen today is very high. And so is mine. My face darkens at the thought. I can't look at Katniss anymore, so I decide to turn away and worry to myself.

I focus my attention on the makeshift stage in front of me. On each side, two large glass bowls have been set up, filled with slips of paper that hold the names of each eligible entrant in the district. A wooden podium stands in the middle of the stage, and there is one chair on either side of it. The mayor will stand at the podium to deliver his traditional speech, and various dignitaries from District Twelve will stand behind him. One chair is designated for Effie Trinket, the district's escort. There's another empty seat on the opposite side of the stage, set aside for our only living victor, Haymitch Abernathy. But that chair is far away from the rest of the dignitaries, because Haymitch is essentially the town drunk, and nobody likes to associate with him if they don't have to. He's not here yet, which is no surprise—often, he doesn't even show up to the reaping, because he's so hung-over.

The Justice Building looms behind the stage. It's so old and decrepit that it's hardly ever put to use, but the reaping day is an exception. It's where freshly-picked tributes go to say their final goodbyes to their family and friends. For this occasion, the building has been decorated with Capitol flags and banners. I guess it's supposed to make the place look more inviting or something, but it actually seems grim. We all know that the Capitol seal on the banners stands for this odious cause.

The energy in the crowd is restless, anxious. Nobody is particularly looking forward to the reaping—we're all just hoping to get this over with so we can return to our normal lives. I want nothing more than to get through my final reaping, to escape this without having my name drawn. I shift back and forth in my place, contenting myself with thoughts of our dinner celebration tonight. The Everdeens will come over, and we'll eat until our stomachs are ready to split open, feasting on fish stew and fresh herbs and bakery bread. The eight of us will gather around our tiny kitchen table, laughing and talking, and we'll act like a family. And maybe…maybe I'll pull Katniss aside, and I'll tell her what's on my mind. Heat creeps into my neck when I think about that, so I have to push the thought aside. I slip my mask of stone back into place, knowing that the second I let it fall aside, I'll be disappointed by reality. Expecting things like this to happen is like…like expecting that the Capitol will see the error in its ways. It's foolish to dream, and ultimately fruitless.

As the clock strikes two, the cameras shift the focus from the crowd of nervous children to the assembled dignitaries onstage. They shuffle out of the Justice Building onto the stage and take their places stiffly in the back. Mayor Undersee follows closely behind, standing behind the podium with a solemn expression. Everyone is dressed in dark gray clothing—it makes the day seem even more dank and depressing than it already is.

But then, just as the strains of the Capitol anthem start to pipe through the speakers set up around the square, Effie Trinket emerges from the Justice Building in all her glory, taking the stage in small, bouncing steps. Even though she's been around for as long as I can remember, she still startles me. Vibrant pink hair, fluorescent eyes that seem to change color as often as her hair, and a green pantsuit in sharp contrast to the rest of her coloration. She has this wide, eager smile with too many large, white teeth that are blinding in the sunlight. And this is all before she opens her mouth.

Not even seeming to notice how out of place she looks, Effie beams at everyone in the audience, and takes her seat behind the podium. To my disgust, I can see Effie staring at the reaping balls, almost hungrily, her fingers itching to dig around and produce a slip that holds the fate of one unfortunate person. But for now, she has to wait.

Mayor Undersee greets everyone solemnly, bowing his head deeply. Before he begins to speak, he purses his lips tightly together, as if in an effort to compose himself and collect his thoughts. I notice how much he looks like his daughter, Madge, when he does that. And I'm surprised that she has entered my mind at a time like this. I shouldn't be thinking of her, not when I have more important things to be worrying about. Yet I find myself scanning the crowd of sixteen year-olds for her face. My gaze lands on Katniss again, and I flush, embarrassed that I've been distracted.

"To begin our program, I have prepared a few words to say about the Capitol," Mayor Undersee says, shuffling some papers around on the podium. He squints at the pages before him, as if he doesn't quite know what he's about to say. But we all do. He's delivered this speech for as long as he's been the mayor, just as every mayor in Panem must do on reaping day. The words have become ingrained in my mind, and they have boiled inside of me for years.

Now he clears his throat and begins his speech. "Long ago, a country known as North America was obliterated by a terrible war. Its citizens fought for fuel, sustenance, and land. But the few people that remained ended up with nothing. The land was charred and barren. Fuel supplies were depleted. Sustenance was meager and insufficient. It seemed bleak. That is, until Panem rose out of the ashes." Here, he takes his customary long pause, lifting his eyes from the podium to scan the audience. The cameras hold on Mayor Undersee's wrinkled visage. "A shining Capitol came to power, presiding over thirteen districts, full of people who wanted for nothing. Everyone was sheltered, clothed, and fed. The citizens of Panem lived in peace for some time, until rebellion shook the land. But the rebels who countered the Capitol were quickly overpowered, and the instigators were punished for their misdemeanors.

"The ever-generous Capitol allowed the rest of Panem to live. The thirteenth district refused to bow down in submission: thus, it was destroyed. However, the twelve remaining districts complied with the Capitol's terms: by providing the Capitol with necessary goods and products, the people of the districts would be allowed to live. This was the Treaty of Treason, which stands today.

"In return for the Capitol's generosity, and as a reminder of the rebels' treason, each district would now be required to offer up two tributes—one male and one female—between the ages of twelve and eighteen, in an annual televised competition called the Hunger Games. The twenty-four competitors would fight to the death, until one remained. This tradition has continued for seventy-four years, and we honor it today. It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," says Mayor Undersee. "Here, in District Twelve, we are granted a comfortable lifestyle in exchange for coal and tributes. This is a small price to pay for a wealth of resources." But even the mayor can't muster up a convincing smile of gratitude. We all know that this speech is purely propaganda, drafted up by one of President Snow's advisors. A "wealth of resources"? In District Twelve, where almost everyone is suffering from poverty? It's completely false.

Then Mayor Undersee glances up from his podium, finished with his speech. "I will now read the list of District Twelve's past Hunger Games victors," he announces, glancing nervously at the empty chair to his right. He clears his throat again, taking a long pause. Reluctantly, he reads off the names. There are only two. "The winner of the 7th Annual Hunger Games, Connor Danvers; and…the winner of the 50th Annual Hunger Games, or Second Quarter Quell…Haymitch Abernathy." The silence is deafening, as Haymitch is not onstage to receive the token applause from the crowd.

The crowd starts to react as the awkward pause in the program stretches on. Mayor Undersee turns to look at Effie Trinket helplessly, who just sets her magenta lips in a thin line of disapproval. But as the murmurs from the crowd start to pick up, Haymitch stumbles up the stairs into place. He's obviously drunk, from the way he weaves across the stage and practically crashes into his chair. The cameras get a shot of Haymitch facing the crowd—his face is puffy and red from indulgences; his hair is an unkempt mess; and his eyes are a little unfocused. He starts to shout out unintelligible things to the crowd over the feeble applause, but he abruptly cuts himself off so he can give Effie Trinket a hug. Effie looks absolutely disgusted, and she tries to peel herself away from Haymitch, but her bright pink wig slips in the process. It's all so humiliating to watch.

"Haymitch Abernathy, ladies and gentlemen," Mayor Undersee says with a grimace. At this, Haymitch lifts his hands and gives a friendly wave, which looks so out of place at a reaping. I turn my head just slightly and see Katniss shooting me a barely suppressed smile. I smile back at her—this is undeniably entertaining, if not in a twisted way.

But I drop my smile when Effie Trinket bounces forward to the podium, with a glint of hunger in her eye. Mayor Undersee has shrunk back into his chair behind the podium, grateful to be out of the spotlight, but Effie is looking straight into the cameras with a wide smile. "Happy Hunger Games!" Effie cries, placing a hand on top of her lopsided wig to keep it secure. "And may the odds be _ever _in your favor!" She pauses, beaming triumphantly as the people of District Twelve begin to clap, though the applause is weak and uneasy. I glare at the ground, so disgusted by Effie Trinket and the Games and all that they stand for.

"And I'd really like to take this opportunity to tell you all how _honored_ I am to be here today," she gushes. Of course, being the escort for District Twelve is hardly an honor. This is the most impoverished district in Panem. "It's such a pleasure. I can't wait to share this excitement with all of you! Who will be the next tributes of District Twelve? I can hardly wait!" And with a gleam in her eye, she crosses over to the reaping balls, pausing in front of the girl's ball.

"Ladies first!" Effie trills, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. The crowd becomes silent. Nobody dares to draw a breath as she dips her hand inside the bowl, fishing around for what feels like an eternity. Her fingers close around one slip, but she drops it, grinning as she notices the tension building in the crowd. Finally, she pulls her hand out, holding the slip up in the air triumphantly.

I hold my breath as Effie walks back to the podium. My mind is repeating, _Not Katniss, not Katniss,_ over and over until the words start to blend together. Effie is struggling to break the seal on the slip, her long fingernails getting in the way. Finally she breaks it, and unfurls the slip of paper slowly. She holds it close to her face, squinting to read the name printed there. I watch in horror as she opens her mouth. "Primrose Everdeen!"

The crowd lets its breath out collectively, but it's followed by total silence. I stand in my place, in complete shock. Prim only had one entry to her name—Katniss made sure of that. I did the same for Rory. So the odds of Prim being chosen were slim to none, and yet Effie is up on that stage, holding Prim's slip of paper up in the air, scanning the crowd for the little girl.

I want to scream, yell, jump onstage and smash the reaping balls in millions of tiny pieces. They can't take an innocent twelve year-old girl into the arena, let her die! She has a family, a sister who would give her life for her. At that, I glance over at Katniss, who is barely controlling herself. Her face has gone pale, and I can see her starting to tip backward. A boy from the Seam catches her by her elbows and pushes her back into a standing position. My heart sinks at the sight of this, feeling sick to my stomach for both Katniss and Prim. I love them both like family.

Prim emerges from the crowd, eyes wide and visibly shaking. But she doesn't cry, even as she makes her way unsteadily to the stage. We all watch in horror as she mounts the steps. Effie Trinket grins at Prim, beckoning for her to come closer. But it's at that moment that my thoughts catch up with me, and I realize what is about to happen before it does.

Katniss's voice pierces my ears before she's even spoken. "Prim!" she cries, lost in the crowd. The cameras search for that voice, eventually locking on her as she pushes her way through the group of sixteen year-olds. Her eyes are full of desperation. Now Prim is featured onscreen, and her bottom lip trembles when she sees Katniss coming for her. "Prim!" she screeches again, struggling to get through the crowd before Prim can take her place next to Effie. Katniss darts up the steps and, in one swift motion, sweeps Prim behind her. "I volunteer!" she says breathlessly, staring at Effie Trinket with defiance. "I volunteer as tribute!"

And that's when I know that my life will never be the same.


End file.
